Play Hard to Get

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The amber bourbon stared at him from the square-cut glass. He dropped in some ice and lifted it. “You sure about what you found?” he said, resting his hand on the large center island in his spacious kitchen, which opened into a huge living room with a two-story rock fireplace. The great room was open above.

“One hundred percent positive,” Dean said from over the phone. “There’s no doubt Pete was using the bar as a one-stop shop for knockoff fentanyl and street-grade oxy, among other things.”

Dean was his brother, a former boxer turned DEA agent who’d burnt out and hit rock bottom after too many years undercover and too many years shooting up. He was now sober after two stints in rehab, and he was the only person Cameron completely trusted. The man was two years older, a five-time graduate of the school of hard knocks, but he’d always had Cameron’s back, sober or drunk. Family first, scumbags second.

“Not sure how much or how long he’s been running it through your place,” Dean said, “but it was enough that he’d established a nice sideline, a lot of cash changing hands. Could still be problems. Expect a few of those roughnecks at the bar are regular users, and there’s your staff, the waitresses, bartender, bouncer, dancers… Shall I go on?”

The phone was in the center of the counter on speaker, and Cameron listened to Dean, furious at himself for missing the fact that a man who’d worked for him for years, who had made himself seem indispensable, had abused his trust and lied to his face. He hated liars, and it angered him more that he still hadn’t learned his lesson. Trusting a liar had nearly cost him everything—all because of a woman.

“Any trouble getting rid of him?” He took a swallow, welcoming the bite, the burn.

“No, no trouble. But you’re sure you don’t want me to make a call to the Feds, lock him up? It’s your call, but he’s just going to be selling somewhere else, running his racket. Best to end Pete’s career once and for all. The chances of some blowback on you are almost certain.”

He was shaking his head. How could he explain to anyone that he was done with the spotlight, with exposing himself and his life? Never again would he have anyone looking anywhere into his personal and business life, scrutinizing every aspect of what he did and didn’t do. It was an intrusion, a destruction he’d never allow in his life again. No, anonymity was better. He’d walk away from everything else.

“Do whatever you want now that he isn’t working for me,” Cameron said. “Bust him somewhere away from my businesses, where there will be no questions or spotlight shone anywhere in my direction.” He rested his hand over the button to disconnect. “Just make sure all the locks get changed tonight at every one of my businesses, and you find out if anyone else is trying to run something out of my places. But I mean it: Get everything away from me and my businesses. I want peace, and I sure as s**t cannot go through another scandal. I run a clean place, all of them. I pay my taxes. I, unlike every other business out there, play by the rules, and I want it to stay that way.”

“I get that, Cam, I really do, but you need to let it go. It was over a year ago. Move on. This isn’t the same thing. You didn’t do anything wrong here, and people will see that and know—”

“You’re full of s**t. People don’t give a s**t about the truth. The only thing they see is my name, my business, and it doesn’t matter that I knew nothing of it. It’s the perception, and that alone is all anyone needs to create a twisted version of reality. Some will say, ‘Hey, he must have done something wrong, because he’s been in trouble before,’ and people feed off that.”

Those people Cameron had thought were his friends had become part of the problem and turned on him, because even though people said otherwise, everyone still judged for perceived deeds instead of the unmistakable content of his character. They lived for the gossip, the drama, even if it wasn’t anywhere close to the truth. Except Dean, who’d always walked his own road, made up his own mind.

“Okay, I hear you. I get the fact that the wound has festered and you’re not ready to say ‘f**k you all’ to the world and let it go, so I’ll coddle you on this. Maybe I’ll start sugarcoating everything for you until you rediscover those tender sensibilities that make you so damn pretty.”

“Oh, f**k you.” He wanted to smack his brother through the phone as he swirled the glass of bourbon and then set it on the counter. At the same time, he was feeling better at the way his brother didn’t coddle him but made fun of how prickly he’d become.

“Yeah, you too,” Dean said. “By the way, I hired that chick.”

He was blank, staring at the phone, wondering what the hell his brother was talking about. “Sorry…” He was shaking his head even though his brother couldn’t see as he leaned on the counter, his hand wrapped around the glass again.

“The looker in the office, you know, the one I warned you not to hire. But hey, I saw the look on your face, buying into her sob story. Jesus Murphy, man, when will you learn a pretty face is akin to the final stake being driven right into your nuts? Girls will be the end of you.”

Crude, too, his brother. Too many years living and breathing with the scum of the earth. He still didn’t know who he was talking about as he scrambled to think of where he’d been today, yesterday… Oh, yeah, it hit him, the pathetic thing who’d begged and pleaded while his gut had been screaming trouble. “Well, keep an eye on her. If she does anything, bounce her.”

This time, he hit the disconnect button before his brother could call him an i***t again. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe he should listen and bounce the girl before she started her shift, before he fell neck deep in something that wouldn’t just leave him burned and scarred but would take a piece of him he’d never get back.

He took in his sprawling rancher on forty acres ten miles outside of Casper. All four thousand square feet were done in browns and oranges, comfortable and rustic, a place he’d owned for five years, though he’d nearly lost all of it because of Lori. What was it about women that they all seemed to be playing him or hunting him? Didn’t matter who they were. As far as he was concerned, they were always working an angle, always wanting something.